Whoosh—
The engine of the thirty-times gravity chamber let out a labored wheeze. Under the immense pressure, the air warped into ripples visible to the naked eye. Even the light from the high-intensity lamp on the ceiling seemed dimmed by the force.
Son Goku stood bare-chested, his muscular body taut. His feet were rooted to the alloy floor like the sprawling roots of an ancient tree.
Sweat could barely gather on his skin. The moment it seeped out, the terrifying thirty-times gravity slammed it to the ground, where it pattered against the floor like heavy rain on a steel plate.
Every breath felt like swallowing a blade. Under the crushing pressure, the bones throughout his body grated against one another with an ear-splitting rasp.
After more than half a year of pushing himself to the limit, thirty times gravity was the current threshold of his body. If he recklessly cranked it up another notch, the pressure would overwhelm his internal organs and make them burst inside his chest.
"Ha!"
Bearing enough pressure to flatten a heavy armored vehicle, Son Goku clenched his teeth and relied on the unreasonable, savage instincts of a Saiyan to force his way through the final set of shadowboxing. His last punch tore through the viscous air, producing a sonic boom!
Beep!
The countdown on the wall hit zero, and the red light turned green. The gravity field gave a long, low hum and shut off completely.
Son Goku felt the weight lift from his body. Every cell was greedily rejoicing. He went to the rest area, bit open a tube of Bulma's specially formulated concentrated nutritional supplement, and downed it in one gulp.
Unlike ordinary martial artists, who collapsed into a heap after training, he sat cross-legged on the spot and meditated, closing his eyes to regulate his breathing.
The ki inside him began flowing smoothly, like a surging river, brutally and greedily repairing his torn muscle fibers. The Saiyan approach was simple and crude: as long as he didn't die, crawling back to his feet meant a tremendous leap in his reserves of fighting power.
A moment later, Son Goku slowly opened his eyes and exhaled a scorching stream of white breath like a sharp sword. He clenched his fist and felt the surging power in his palm.
His battle power must have broken ten thousand!
In an era when Piccolo Daimao was still gathering dust inside a rice cooker and the average Earthling had a battle power of only five, what did ten thousand mean?
It meant that if he got even a little serious, he could raise a hand and fire a Kamehameha, turning the moon above into the most dazzling firework in the universe.
And his good big brother Raditz, who wouldn't come crashing onto Earth for more than a decade, along with that bald, musclebound Nappa? Against a battle power of ten thousand, they were just two slightly tougher punching bags. He had already cleared Earth's standard-level challenges completely.
But there was little complacency in Son Goku's dark eyes. Instead, they held a clear, calculated resolve.
As someone who had crossed over with full knowledge of how things would unfold, he knew all too well what awaited beyond Earth, in the vast reaches of space: Frieza, the emperor of the universe, whose normal battle power reached 530,000; Cell, an android made from the cells of the universe's finest fighters; and Majin Buu, a being even the Supreme Kai found troublesome.
In this cruel universe, a battle power of ten thousand was no more than a pass that let him leave the beginner's village. If he wanted to truly control the situation and keep the fate of the world firmly in his hands, becoming a Super Saiyan was his only goal for the next few years—unless he could coast on someone else's support.
He needed both a normal battle power of more than three million and an enormous number of S-Cells in his body. Neither would do without the other.
"Pure-blooded Saiyans spend their days killing and plundering. They're violent and bloodthirsty. Yet S-Cells can only multiply in large numbers when the mind is calm and gentle. No wonder becoming a Super Saiyan was just a legend..."
Son Goku grabbed a white towel and wiped his hair, a gleam of anticipation flashing in his eyes.
The soul of a transmigrator, the bottomless potential of Kakarot's body, and the awakened Ancient Saiyan Bloodline—when he crossed that threshold and completed his transformation, he was sure to take a form that surpassed everyone's understanding.
Speculation was one thing; he still had to take the road one step at a time. Grinding away in the gravity chamber would do nothing to improve his state of mind and might even have the opposite effect. Judging by the date, it was time to go out and stock up on strategic supplies.
The Senzu Beans atop Korin Tower could snatch a life right out of the King of Hell's hands. They were a valuable resource, and he had to buy them in bulk. They would be perfect for exploiting the Saiyans' near-death recovery mechanic later. Then there was the Hyperbolic Time Chamber at Kami's Lookout, and the secret techniques of Planet Yardrat—Instant Transmission...
Once he had all those trump cards in hand, he'd be able to face any storm that came his way.
Hiss—
The pressure valve let out a soft rush of air, and the heavy metal doors of the gravity chamber slid open.
Bulma came rushing in, wearing pink bunny slippers and a silk robe. She hadn't even had time to fix her trademark short blue hair. A few strands clung to her pale cheeks, and her usual elegant heiress manner had gone right out the window. She clutched a small device about the size of a pocket watch.
"Goku! This is crazy!"
She hurried over to Son Goku and thrust the glowing Dragon Radar right in his face. Her voice was so rushed she could barely catch her breath.
"Look at these coordinates! The signals from five Dragon Balls are all coming from the same direction! And they're moving toward a certain location at incredible speed!"
As a once-in-a-century genius from the Capsule Corporation, Bulma had a razor-sharp instinct. She got straight to the point.
"There's no way they're just scattered around naturally! It has to be an organization with deep pockets and a high-precision detection radar, sweeping the world for Dragon Balls like a bulldozer! Their efficiency is ridiculous!"
Son Goku casually took the Dragon Radar and glanced at the cluster of flashing dots on its screen. He immediately understood: the Red Ribbon Army.
The timing was right. It really was time for those unlucky fools to make their entrance: Red Tess, who was going crazy over growing a few centimeters taller; the loyal Black Advisor; and Dr. Gero, who was conducting research underground.
At least they were hardworking. They'd taken on all the tedious early-game work of digging up Dragon Balls around the world. To Son Goku, the steel fortress they guarded with all those troops was no different from a free, temporary pickup locker.
"Isn't that great?"
Son Goku tossed the Dragon Radar lightly in his hand, then naturally put an arm around Bulma's shoulders and ruffled her messy blue hair. His tone was as casual as if he were talking about what to have for dinner.
"I was starting to get moldy after spending the past few months in the gravity chamber. Come on, young lady, let's go on vacation—and pick up our Dragon Balls while we're at it!"
Bulma paused. Looking at the bare-chested young man in front of her, smiling with easy confidence, she felt her anxiety vanish in an instant. A faint blush rose on her cheeks instead.
"Hmph, easy for you to say. Don't come crying when you get beaten up!" Bulma haughtily slapped his hand away, but the corners of her mouth kept turning up. Then she turned and ran off in her slippers to pack.
Watching Bulma's cheerful back, Son Goku rested his hands behind his head, anticipation flickering in his dark eyes.
Red Ribbon Army.
I hope your guns and cannons can loosen up my muscles a little.
Before you continue